Like Eyes
by Daughter of the Black
Summary: Buffy Summers hands out a little advice in a backtown bar. Buffy Terry pairing. Buffy Trueblood/Southern Vampire series.


Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Southern Vampire series/TB

A/N: After Chosen all of the Potentials were returned to being potentials save Faith and Buffy. They all blamed Buffy, save Faith, for the deaths and the whole thing. Buffy was shunned and she started to wander, she did some petty theft to get by and looted vamps. The Council was destroyed, and Faith was helping out fighting them, the girls went home. Vamps came out and the slayer remained a secret.

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Long way from home.

That was one way to put it, another would be to say she was running. Buffy Summers didn't believe that running was her fail-safe, it wasn't. But what else could she call it when she was kicked out because people died during war. Did they really think that she didn't care, did they actually believe she of all people didn't value life?

No, this had been building up for far too long, since the very day she had met them all. Giles, Willow, Xander, Dawn, all of the potentials. She was a scapegoat, someone to blame for their mistakes. Did Buffy ask to be brought back to life? No! Did anyone ask if she wanted to use magic to fight where it wasn't needed? No! Buffy's joking position as "muscle" had become literal. The slayer didn't have a brain of her own, she had to be told how to tie her fucking shoes.

So here she was, Louisiana, Bon Temps to be exact. Those who knew what she was, who she was sent her a tip here and there about vamps that needed dusting. See about two months after the Hellmouth collapsed the vamps came "out of the coffin" as they put it. It was illegal to kill them if they weren't hurting. So two years later she was walking up the dirt parking lot to the front door of a bar.

It was loud and warm inside, clearly the favored watering hole of the young and old. Bundled up in a large flannel shirt she had picked up from a vamp in Alaska, Buffy wasn't very intimidating. She was more broken than anything.

Hopping up onto an empty barstool she propped her hand on her chin and glanced at the backsplash of liquor. A thick, muscled man wiped down the counter, eyes focused on his task. He was muttering something to himself, but Buffy couldn't really care. She spent most of her time ruminating on her supposed mistakes and rejection rather than people around her.

His hand flashed beneath her face, not trying to get her attention, just trying to do his job. He paused when Buffy looked up at him and sighed.

He didn't look at her, he never really looked at anyone, "What would you like, Miss?"

As he glanced past her, towards the door, Buffy finally saw his eyes, they were dark green with flecks of grey and brown, his shaggy hair and beard making him stand out in the crowd of clean shaven men. There was something in him, his eyes that made her stop, there were things trapped in him-memories, losses.

"Whiskey," the slayer heard herself say, "Join me?"

She said it in the same monotone voice, devoid of the emotion that dragged her down. The bartender didn't reply, but he did plunk two glasses down before generously pouring out the amber liquid. The tall man leaned against the bar, his hand wrapped around the glass. Both man and woman were leaning forward, so close to having hair and limbs tangle.

Buffy took a long, slow pull from her glass before setting her hand beside his, palm down.

"It's like being trapped in an avalanche-trying to breathe."

Her voice was a little hoarse from both drink and lack of use.

He swallowed air like it was dirt, heavily. Pulling his head up he looked in her eyes, tears just suppressed, a dull matte of anger and fear covered by emotionless-ness.

Whiskey wet lips parted to respond but another voice filled their silence, "Terry!"

Both Terry and Buffy straightened and scanned the bar-sure enough two frat boys had gotten into a brawl and were trying to wrestle the other into submission.

A hard glimmer had gone into Buffy's eyes, and Terry had swiftly moved around the bar ready to interfere. The two boys were up and stumbling towards the bar, Buffy sighed and stuck her foot out. The kid backing towards her fell hard on his back, drawing the attention to her. Before the other kid could react Buffy had thrown a wicked left cross to his jaw. He stumbled back slightly, Terry was ready and yanked his arm up behind his back and then slammed him face first onto the bar. Both were still conscious and mostly unharmed, but stunned pretty well.

Terry and the owner, Sam, "helped" the two tough guys out to the parking lot before returning and helping settle down the crowd-though that was mostly Sam. Terry just slunk back behind the bar.

Picking up her now empty glass, Buffy fiddled with it, rolling it over on her fingers. Terry watched her from beneath a layer of hair, "I'm Terry Bellefleur."

"Buffy Summers," the slayer replied.

Terry inhaled sharply, "Do this sort of thing often?"

"You can take the girl out of the fight, but trust me, you can't take the fight out of me. You? That was no Friday night break-up move."

Terry shrugged, "Iraq."

Buffy knew then and there why his eyes were similar to hers, despite how he said that word, it meant so much more.

"Vampires, my friends, my bosses," the slayer air quoted the last word.

Terry looked at her sharply. Vampires were not easy to take down. His silent evaluation was interrupted when Buffy rose and dropped a bill on the table before turning away from the bar, "Nice to meet you, Terry. Don't-don't lose yourself to it."

Even when she was long gone, her hazel eyes still watched him, and her words echoed softly in his mind and Terry closed his eyes tightly on his ghosts.

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Originally this was fairly plotless, but the ending seemed to fit how broken Terry can be at times-you have to admit it is a kind of sweet pairing-even if it isn't very romantic.


End file.
